bitter and hot spice
by blueasjazz
Summary: AU ; oneshot – I was raised to be charming, not sincere.


**bitter and hot spice.**

**starring. **veneziano / n. italy.

**author's note. **i always wanted to write a spice!italy. canon says he puts moves on girls all the time but never succeeds, but screw that - here, feliciano's one pimping son of a gun. his ladies? liechtenstein and monaco. his 'true love'? motherflipping _hungary._

because. _that's_ why.

**ratings / warnings. **well, it _is _based on spice!, so... that's a warning on its own, right? also, het!pairings, and all lower-caps, so apologies in advance~

**summary. **my, what a lovely young man! / i was raised to be charming, not sincere.

**. . .**

she is such a sweet girl, you think – dearest liesl smells like vanilla, she tastes like strawberries, and she looks like an angel, you _have_ to breathe to yourself, _oh; Dio mio_! she is a perfect mix of sugar blonde bangs and starry teal eyes, wrapped up in a silky ribbon her darling brother had bought for her.

(but you have released her from such ties, see – she's not as innocent as she'd like to be.)

and the _other_ one? why, she is so full of class, you'd exclaim, not unlike her womanizing older brother. their only similarity is hair of deep, rich _gold_, and you swear monique's very being shines and glitters just as radiantly. her red-rimmed glasses gleam as she tosses her braid and crosses her legs – ah, miss valedictorian, would you please spare me a minute?

(not so fast; you can see her tongue dart in between the opening of her lips – darling, _tsk tsk_.)

you smile.

**. . .**

you are used to girls flocking to you, but a certain two are persistent – they're giggling freshman girls to your junior status, and the prettiest among all. they sit on your desk and run fingers through your hair, and seem to think that chatting you up is a good exercise before trigonometry starts at eight in the morning.

you don't mind. of course you don't, because you are _such _a good boy and so you cater to their every need – every touch, every girlish giggle, "_morning, chelle, you're looking very cute today._" and "_you sure live up to your 'heavenly' name, don't you, tiantian?_"

but then you see forest-green eyes interlocking with violet ones hidden behind a pair of glasses, pushed-back chocolate hair and a shy smile. he says something, the young, gentle bespectacled music teacher with a certain air of dignity, and forest-green irises sparkle even more as she laughs at his sophisticated quip, "_oh, mister edelstein_–"

your grip on a blushing chelle's butternut hand gets a little tighter, and tiantian's pale, porcelain fingers loosely slide from your neck to your shoulder – _feliciano, are you alright?_

"of course," you say. "i'm fine."

**. . .**

you blink, shift a little, flipping an auburn curl out of your face, and reach for your quietly ringing phone.

"so," a girl greets you, voice sultry and playfully suspicious. you can imagine her now – eyes like a cat's, her golden braid tousled and tumbling down one shoulder. behind her, the flashing colors of city lights as seen from new york's best penthouse on the upper east side. "where did you run off to yesterday?"

"monique," you reply, and you hear her breath hitching at the mention of her name. "_amore,_ it's four in the morning." you just had to point that out.

(excuses, excuses.)

"i know it is," she murmurs. the playfulness dissipates from her voice. there's a long, pregnant pause and you consider just hanging up.

you don't like that you notice how vulnerable monique sounds, even when she's not speaking at all. it's painful for her, you know, but you kind of like it – it pushes you forward, it makes you braver knowing that someone so high and mighty is putty in your hands right now.

"...please," she finally says. "just tell me who you're with."

your hand caresses lightened, flaxen hair. beside you, a figure sleeps, encased in soft blankets and off-white linen, who smells of fresh daisies and tastes like bubblegum.

except you're not supposed to know that – _nobody _is, growls her older brother vash – because liesl used to taste like grape fizz, and before that, cherries. which means it's been a little more recent than the first time.

(_hers,_ but that's a secret.)

by the second or fourth, she tastes like _piña colada_, and that's your favorite by far. you tell her so, and she blushes. teal-bright, shining, happy. you mirror her smile.

and then you think of the fact that she will wake up alone to mussed-up blonde hair; ruffled, unfolded sheets and a certain coldness from the other side of her bed that comes from blind infatuation and one too many mistakes.

a silk ribbon twists its way around your fingers as you murmur into your phone, and monique sighs.

"...you, always."

**. . .**

forest-green eyes flutter closed as _she _is pushed against a desk, in an uncharacteristic show of strength from the music teacher. they're subtle, usually – they don't hold hands in public, he doesn't call her 'baby' like gilbert used to, he doesn't rest his hand on hers, he doesn't whisper sweet nothings into her ear.

but after a while, maybe it all just _explodes _– so mister edelstein finds her in an empty, secluded classroom, and suddenly her fingertips are gripping the blades of his shoulders, and he sighs into the base of her neck, her sweet caramel curls, murmuring –

they don't notice the door left slightly ajar.

you stare, eyes shining under fluorescent lights, fists clenched and face drained of color. you look at the tiles on the floor, at the constellations in the dots below your feet.

_no._

**. . .**

you think that liesl's stockings are such a bother, really – what's the use of them if she's always wearing those dresses that cover up everything down to her mid-calves, anyway; with necklines and hemlines that leave _much_ to the imagination?

but still, you kiss your way up her thighs, your lips feather-light and blocked by that accursed layer of fabric encasing her legs. she gasps, scandalized, looking away and embarrassedly catching sight of her puffy, maroon sundress laying haphazardly on the floor. you smile and think she looks pretty in black lace.

**. . .**

so does monique, actually. the difference is that a lifetime spent around her brother francis had made her a little bolder than liesl, though not by a great extent – miss bonnefoy still has quite a reputation to uphold, after all.

one of your hands is trailing down her side while the other stops at the clasp of her bralette, covered by a lightweight sweater – brand-name, no doubt. your mouth is softly nibbling on her collarbone, asking – seducing – for her permission. _oh, love, _you think. _you're so beautiful; please_, _please_, please.

**. . .**

her hips jerk forward, and she wraps one leg around you, fumbling with your shirt.

she blinks.

(liesl – wide-eyed and innocent and naive and gasping, mewling like a child.)

(monique – eyelashes fluttering and pouted lips parted, fingers grasping.)

she moans your name, whispers words that you had no idea she even knew existed. you swallow your apologies for ruining her.

but you can't say no to such a pretty face.

**. . .**

_caramel curls come tumbling down, laced with a single fresh geranium, framing a perfect face with perfect forest-green eyes.  
her smile outshines the sun and knocks you over faster than the wind.  
you forget to breathe and you want to cry._

**. . .**

("...i love you.")

**. . .**

she's not quite an angel anymore.

**. . .**

**(end)notes. **so yeah. spice!italy is in _luuuuurve_ with hungary, except she's taken by music-teacher!roderich. so italy goes all pimp on other girls' arses. yup.

(i'm so sorry that this is such crap orzzzz)

len - feliciano / italy.  
rin - elizaveta / the italicized '_she_', lol / hungary.  
kaito - roderich / 'mister edelstein' / austria.  
miku - liesl / liechtenstein.  
meiko - monique / monaco.  
neru - tiantian / taiwan. (which, by the way, _does _mean 'heavenly')  
haku (?) - chelle / seychelles.

gilbert cameo ftw! tee-hee.

thanks for reading! :D


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